Les Chaînes Qu'ils Révèrent
by Erik's Champion
Summary: Amid the aftermath of Atem's return to the afterlife, Seto and Isis reflect on where on the past has taken them, and where the future might lead. Slight trustshipping


The title for this story comes from a quote by Voltaire: "Il est bien malaisé d'ôter à des insensés des chaînes qu'ils révèrent," which translates to "It is difficult to free fools from the chains they revere."

I'm considering this to be part 3 of my Seto/Isis interaction series. The first part is my story Qui Porte des Oeillieres, the second chapter 5 of my Seto-centric story OK Computer. While I don't think either part is necessary to understanding and enjoying this story, it will add a bit more context to their interactions.

I own nothing

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"Was he any good?" Even as the words came out Seto regretted them—they sounded so flat, toneless, and empty.

"What would it mean to you if he was?"

Years of habit told him to say 'nothing,' but the word dried in his throat. Unable to bring himself to say anything else, he merely shrugged and prodded the ground with the tip of his boot.

"I imagine he must have been." Isis continued. "Once Priest Seto was able to free his mind from the corrosive influence of his father, I imagine that the man who remained must have strong and wise—made all the more conscientious of his power by the fact that he had abused it so profoundly in the past. Acknowledging the horror that he had produced while under the influence of Akhenaden forced him to reconsider his place in the world—his power, his responsibilities, and his values. I think he had to realize that he was capable of committing acts of atrocious evil to know that what he truly wanted was to be a force for good."

"Does it bother you that you can't know for sure?"

Isis was quiet for a moment. Her eyes gently caressed the embossed surface of Pharaoh Seto's tomb—years of archaeological training had taught her that even gazing too harshly at an ancient artifact could distort its more ethereal properties. "No…" her words unraveled slowly. "It might have, once. Now I welcome the shadow of uncertainty." Her lips curled into a small smile. "I think it will be a nice change."

"Why was it necessary? Why would serving as someone's puppet like that make him a better ruler?"

Isis turned away from the shadowed entry to the tomb and fixed her thoughtful gaze on Seto's face. His pale skin and peeled, sunken eyes made her wonder whether he had slept at all since his return to the modern world. "Think of your step-father, Kaiba." Seto grimaced slightly, thinking of Gozaburo was the last thing he wanted to do. "He was capable of committing such appalling acts precisely because he didn't believe it was possible for him to do wrong. He analyzed every action based on the assumption that whatever he did would always be right, and thus his decisions never required justification.

"In order to do good, we must first recognize within ourselves the capacity to do wrong. In order for our choices and behavior to be meaningful we must acknowledge that there are always two paths open to us, and we must recognize that we are capable of choosing the wrong one." She eyed Seto closely and took a cautious step closer. His body looked so frail and fragile, as if it were merely a shell encapsulating a silent void.

"Are you feeling alright?" She asked gently. "Why did you ask me to bring you here?"

Seto turned away abruptly and crossed his arms stiffly against his chest. He maintained a tense silence for several moments as he glared at the horizon. The sight of the ancient structures made him feel nauseous, it was as if he was an observer at his own funeral and had to sit idly by as his body was interred and began to decay.

The truth was that he could not articulate his desire to see the former pharaoh's tomb—not to himself and certainly not to Isis. Peering into his mind for a response all he could see was a dark pit and blank walls. He shoved his fist into the darkness and pulled out the first response that he could grasp.

"A momentary lapse in rationality." He sneered.

Isis regarded him evenly. "I don't believe you, Seto Kaiba."

He laughed bitterly. "Yes and you would know, wouldn't you? You've pried into my mind so many times you probably know more about my life than I do. So why don't _you_ tell _me_—why did I ask you to bring me here?"

"I think you're looking for something to believe in."

He snorted. "That's your answer to everything: just believe in a higher power everything will be solved with faith and magic and anthropomorphism. It's a cheap explanation." He scowled. "You except me to be satisfied with that—that everything will make sense if I just _believe_ it hard enough?"

"That is not my expectation at all."

"Then what _is_ your expectation?" A gust of anger was rising in his voice.

"But don't you despise hearing my predictions?"

This silenced him again, and his scowl deepened as he prowled around in tight circles like a caged animal. Isis gave him a moment to collect the ashen remnants of his thoughts, and then continued.

"Belief doesn't require belief in a god, or adherence to any particular predefined spiritual path. It doesn't require spirituality at all, if that concept is offensive to you. Belief is merely the rejection of nihilism—it is the principle that there is some component of our lives that makes them worth more than the sum of our physical actions.

"Much of your life has been defined by rejection—you defied your step-father's doctrines, you have rebelled against all those who have tried to contain your ambition and imagination—but can you truly claim that your life has been without substance, that it has had no meaning beyond your fiscal accomplishments?"

"No." he muttered tensely, subconsciously reaching for the locket around his neck.

"Then there is something you believe in, whether or not you care to accept it." When he didn't respond she continued, "Claiming that life has no meaning is merely an excuse for leading a meaningless life. And once one succumbs to that doctrine it becomes dangerously easy to throw life away." She extended an arm and gently brushed some of the sand away from the entry to the tomb.

She had expected making contact with the ancient stone to fill her with a rush of excitement, that same sense of transcendental wonder that permeated her being each time she used the Millennium Necklace to disrupt the linearity of time. But now, with her fingers pressed against the stone, so heard no voices and felt no guiding hands, only the rough surface of a stone separating her from a dark and lonely void.

Seto, noticing her morose and dejected expression, asked, "Are you just _projecting_ yourself onto me again?" he smirked slightly. "Hoping it will turn out like it did last time?"

"Not in the least, I assure you." She replied slightly bitterly, though was incapable of stopping the heat from rising to her cheeks. "For my entire conscious life, I have been the pharaoh's faithful servant. I stood by him even as my family fell apart, as my brother descended into a darkness that I couldn't understand or control. The course that my life was to take and what was expected up of me was carved into the walls around me, bearing down on me at all times.

"As I read those symbols I felt that I was living in a shadow, that I was being shackled to a life that was not truly my own. I longed for freedom to make my own choices, to see the world through my own eyes. But I remained steadfast and loyal to my cause because they told me that once the pharaoh was able to return to his homeland he would restore balance and harmony to the world. The more I ventured into the outside world, the more selfishness, wickedness, and cruelty I saw in those around me, the more I saw how the powerless were treated by those in authority, the more I desperately wanted those prophesies to become true, and the more of myself I was willing to sacrifice to make them a reality.

"I shut out all else but that one objective until Malik escaped." She shuttered at the force of the memory that still sent chills through her body. "We had been losing him mentally for years, but I refused to let myself acknowledge how much danger he was truly in until we had lost him physically as well. I had completely lost sight of him in my own single-mindedness, and I wondered, 'what is the point of saving the world if I cannot save my own brother—if I cannot salvage myself?'

"At that point my priorities shifted, and everything came dangerously close to falling apart. " She shook her head slowly, as if trying to rid herself of the ghosts of memories that still haunted her. "No one but I knows how close we came to failure, and I couldn't help but feel that I bore the weight of responsibility. I was rebelling—putting my family above my cause, putting my emotional desires above my rational objectives—for the first time I was experiencing the freedom that I packed away in the corner of my heart for so long, but it brought me nothing but distress and pain."

"What's your point?"

"I had to acknowledge that I wasn't ready to be free—I couldn't handle the responsibility. So after Malik was saved I put my own thoughts aside and returned to the symbols on the wall." She sighed. "But after the pharaoh returns, the prophecies conclude." Her thoughts seemed to end as abruptly as the markings on the walls, and she stood stiffly in silence for several long moments. "It's a counter-intuitive idea, isn't it? The responsibility of freedom?" Her voice had gone unnaturally soft and small. "Freedom to me was always sunshine and wide open spaces, but now that I've attained it I can see that I've merely exchanged one type of weight for another, and this one is much more difficult to bear."

Seto shifted uncomfortably at her side. He couldn't remember an instance where anyone besides Mokuba had selected him as a confidant, and he found the entire situation to be unsettling. He wondered for a moment if she was trying to manipulate him again, and while he couldn't completely discount the possibility he also couldn't imagine what her motive would be. There was no point—he had played his part, she had no more need to try to appeal to him. Finally deciding that his best bet was blunt honesty, he asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Do you know how I was able to convince you to host the Battle City tournament, and how I knew you would return here?"

"Your 'magical powers'?" he drawled.

"No." Her voice had descended into a low whisper, forcing Seto to lean close to hear her. "You claim that your life is your own, that you make your own destiny and live with complete independence from restriction, but has that ever really been true? Your bitterness towards the memory of your step-father, your refusal to trust or cooperate, these are not testaments to your freedom but evidence of the fact that you are more caged that you could ever bear to acknowledge. I knew I could bend your will because you wanted it to be bent. You, too, cannot tolerate the responsibility of freedom."

"Don't speak like you know me!" Seto snapped. "You might have _pried_ your way into every moment of my childhood, but that doesn't mean that you understand anything that I've ever done."

"I wouldn't need to look directly at your past to know that about you, Kaiba. It comes through clearly in every action that you take. When was the last time you made a business decision without wondering ruefully what your step-father would think about seeing his arms dealership transformed into a gaming corporation? When was the last time you turned down an offer of help because he taught you that no one can be trusted and friendship is a facade? When was the last time you lived without an opponent to vanquish or a villain to overcome? At every moment you are being manipulated—not by those around you, but by your memories of a past which no longer exists. All I had to do was encourage you to substitute one set of memories and past experiences for another. You have never been free, and so long as you continue to carry the scars of your past you never will be."

"That's not true." Seto muttered bitterly. "If—if I wasn't free then I wouldn't have to take responsibility for my actions…" He balled his fists in frustration. "I would never have to feel…guilt. "

Isis eyed him quizzically. "Is that something that you feel?"

Seto didn't respond, but the stiff arch in his back told her enough. "You're right. When I was following the commands of my ancestors I was protected from having to make my own decisions—I didn't have to trouble myself with their moral consequences. When everything was preordained I was of no significance, whether my actions were right or wrong didn't matter because they were purely deterministic. But now…"

"You're afraid that you'll take the wrong path." Seto ventured.

"I am looking for something to believe in."

Seto nodded. "Do you think he was free?" He gestured towards the tomb.

"After he overcame the spirit of his father."

"Did he feel guilty about what he did?"

"When he was under his influence?"

Seto nodded.

"I think the bigger crime would not be to succumb to an authority in a moment of weakness, but to continue to submit long after that moment has passed. Guilt is an indication that you feel responsible for your poor choices, but beyond a certain point it becomes another shackle that ties you to them." She turned to him, her face now soothed with kindness. "It's not a burden that you deserve to carry."

"And what about before that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did he regret becoming a priest? If he had stayed in his village—some people wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"If he had stayed in his village then Kaiba Corporation would still be an armaments company." She smiled softly, but Seto did not seem to be amused.

"I thought I made it clear that we were not discussing my personal life."

"Of course. I apologize."

For a few minutes the two stood in silence, gazing over the landscape and swaying gently in the breeze. The pyramids, palaces—scars of its ancient past that the earth still bore on this thin layer of skin—blinked in out of focus as a mirage enveloped the horizon. Both of them were looking for signs that the world was somehow different, that the bitterness and cruelty unleashed by the crafting of the Millennium items had been expunged, that for the first time in millennia the new day was bringing about something that was fundamentally _new_.

"Did you know that I was Duelist Kingdom? I had just finished work with Pegasus on the God Cards, and was guarding them for the duration of the tournament for safekeeping."

"Hn."

"I saw your duel with Yuugi. I watched as he trapped your soul in one of his cards."

"So?"

"That was one of the days I deviated. I abandoned the cards and I kept watch over your body. While I was away from my post Malik snuck onto the island and was able to steal one of them."

"Sounds like you were a pretty terrible security guard."

"I was."

Without speaking, they slowly walked away from the tomb and made their way back into the heart of the city. As they progressed the landscape gave way around them—dunes flattened into roads, creeks were streamlined into channels, the sky was fractured by power lines and skyscrapers. With every step a layer of the past peeled away and disintegrated behind them—another layer of dust to settle over the sleeping tombs. Somewhere along the way someone had taken the other's hand, and neither had any desire to let go.


End file.
